Prompts and Prose
by Cawti35
Summary: A collection of my Dragon Age Fanfics, some from prompts and others from my own imagination.  Takes place in DA:O, DA:A, & DA2.  Some stories are  slightly  AU.
1. In the Deep Roads

Without the benefit of daylight it could be difficult to tell day from night in the deep roads. An area was either lit or unlit. The tunnel Hawke and her companions were currently in was sweltering. Lava spewed up on either side of the broad expanse that once was a road. Hawke's bones ached and she stifled a yawn. It could just be walking in the heat, but she believed that her body was saying that it was approaching night time on the surface. "I believe that we're almost to a side chamber where we can make camp for the night. "

"That's the nicest thing that you've said to me all day Hawke," Varric jested. She smiled at the dwarf. It was moments such as these when she truly appreciated the dwarf's sense of humor.

The small band plodded on through the stifling air and eerie quiet of the passageway. After what seemed like an hour to Hawke, Fenris pointed to their right and remarked, "It would seem that we have found our campsite." They poked their heads into the chamber a small dead end of a room markedly darker and cooler than the main road and found that it was safely empty.

"Yes, this will do just fine," said Varric. "All it lacks is room service, oh and beds and a privy."

"Let's set up camp, shall we?" Hawke suggested.

The group began rolling out their bedrolls along the wall furthest from the entrance. Fenris and Hawke grouped theirs close together and a bit apart from Varric and Anders' bedrolls. They also erected a small lean to in the corner as a privy, wandering off in the deep roads for privacy was nearly always fatal. Enough light and heat entered the room from the opening to the main passage that a fire was unnecessary.

After the camp was set up, the party ate their dinner. Fenris sat with Hawke upon her spot and shared some of his dry rations with her. The two quietly conversed as they ate. Varric looked at the two of them and smiled. He contemplated how this part of Hawke's story would unfold. Anders interrupted Varric's creative musings saying, "What does she see in him? He is more an animal than a man."

"You think that you would be better for her Blondie?" Varric could not resist baiting Anders, having listened to him whine for the better part of the day about being dragged into the Deep Roads again.

"Yes, I do think that. I know how to treat a woman." Anders defensively retorted as he gathered the crumbs from his meal into a pile.

"He seems to be doing just fine," Varric pointed with his chin towards Fenris and Hawke.

Anders turned to see Fenris folding up his blanket and giving it to Hawke to use as a pillow. "Oh sure, he's the picture of thoughtfulness now, but how long before his anger gets the better of him and he hurts her?"

"I don't believe that he would do that and Hawke can take care of herself if you hadn't noticed." Varric was being serious now.

"It doesn't matter. I believe that she'll get tired of his moods and I am much more fun to be around." A smug smile crossed Anders' face as he stretched out and laid his head upon his backpack.

"Sweet dreams, Blondie." Varric sat watching the door relieved that he shared the first watch with Fenris.


	2. Roadside Tales and Taunts

**I loved the party dialogue in Dragon Age origins and I frequently enjoy imagining other conversations between the characters. This piece takes place near the beginning of DAO. The Dalish Warden, Alistair, Morrigan, and the dog are learning to coexist. **

**Roadside Tales and Taunts**

Pfeiffer sat in front of the fire, her boots flung beside her as she tried to relieve the soreness of her tired legs by rubbing them. She listened thoughtfully to the noises that the inhabitants of the Kocari Wilds produced at night. A practiced Dalish hunter, she was trying to tease out the players in this nature band. This place was more wetland than forest and much of the wildlife was unfamiliar to her. Pfeiffer's reverie was interrupted by Morrigan's attempts to prevent Alistair from making a mockery of the fine venison Pfeiffer had provided for their dinner.

"No! that's too much salt. Wait let the fire die down a bit or you'll burn the outside and the center will be raw. Fine, don't listen to me, if you want to eat another ruined meal go ahead!" Morrigan's exasperation with Alistair's indifference to her advice had been growing steadily as Flemeth's hut receded behind them in their travels. Alistair was distracted, Pfeiffer realized, but he was also intentionally infuriating Morigan. Pfeiffer found it amusing. It kept his mind off of Ostsagar at least.

Since the three of them had set off for Lothering, Alistair had frequently grown very quiet and stared off at the horizon. It was uncomfortable to see the emotions play across his face before he shoved them back down. Pfeiffer felt like she was watching him drown. She certainly missed Duncan's calm and assurance. Right now she felt that she needed to hold herself together to prevent Alistair from becoming completely overwhelmed by his grief. The task laid out before them required her to summon whatever strength and courage she processed. Tamalin and those who died at Osatgar would never rest in her mind until the archdemon and the horde were defeated. She would not relent from this task as long as she drew breath or it was finished.

She regarded Alistair and Morrigan now. Witnessing their endless bickering was like watching a cobra and a mongoose striking in the direction of one another testing strength, while seeking weakness. It drained Pfeiffer. Each was too bound in their respective role of templar and apostate to relate in any other way. As a Dalish elf, she should fear them both and they her. Yet despite her distrust, she found herself driven by need and curiosity to find the people behind the shemlen. Alistair was the easier of the two for her to communicate with. As wardens they had a common purpose that bound them; and Alistair seemed guileless. Morrigan still attempted to vex Pfeiffer, but her efforts were becoming less effective as Pfeiffer saw glimpses of Morrigan's loneliness and confusion. Still, she did not trust Morrigan. The woman was manipulative and difficult to read.

Pfeiffer stood up and stretched a long almost catlike stretch and then approached the cooking pot. "Is that dinner I smell? I'm starving." She stared at the grey matter in the pot. "That is our dinner and not your laundry, right Alistair?"

"Oh, clever. You too, huh?" He snapped. She bumped his side gently with her shoulder to let him know that she was just being playful. He looked down at her and smiled. He enjoyed her joking and found her casual touch comforting. "Kindly keep your criticism to yourself my lady. You had your chance to replace me as cook, remember?"

Pfeiffer slowly shock her head from side to side, sighed and said "It's so hard to find decent human help these days." Alistair laughed, as much at the manner in which Morrigan rolled her eyes as at Pfeiffer's comment.

After dinner, Morrigan had had her fill of her companions for the moment and walked over to a smaller fire by which she had placed her bed roll. She laid down, turning her back on the other two. "Wake me when you must," she grumbled.

Pfeiffer had eaten quite a lot of the venison stew despite its being salty, overcooked, and a most unappetizing color. Now she sat and stared into the fire. She loved to watch flame flicker and scamper in the night. Some of her best memories of being with her Dalish clan seemed to have occurred around a fire. She could remember the story teller weaving tales some to preserve their elven memories, other stories to instruct, and her favorite tales the ones designed to keep the young ones from straying too far into the forest alone. As she allowed her mind to wander the trails of her youth she unconsciously reached up to undo the pony tail that constrained her hair.

Alistair watched the dark cascade of her locks spill across her shoulders. He was surprised at the intimacy of this gesture. He felt voyeuristic watching Pfeiffer's fingers work her hair free. As she shook her head to further spread out her hair he found himself musing what it would feel like to the touch. It looked silky. He wondered, then what her hair smelled like, but all that reached his nostrils was the smell of wood burning. Lost in her memories of being with the Clan, Pfeiffer was oblivious to Alistair's stare.

Finally, Pfeiffer spoke, as much to herself as to Alistair. "Do you know of the wild sylvan trees?" She posed her question to the fire itself it seemed.

"No, I've never heard of the wild slyvan trees. Tell me please." Alistair asked, enjoying the distraction of the smooth, rich tones of the elven woman's voice.

"Centuries ago, when the People had fled the Tervintors and made their way back to the forest, they were naïve of the power contained within the forest. A young elf, whose name has long since faded into time, set off into the forest to gather herbs needed by his mother. She had sternly warned him not to tarry in the woods past sunset, but he had ventured far into the trees." Pfeiffer glanced over at Alistair and found that he was watching her in rapt attention. She was grateful to see his reverie broken and continued the tale, knowing her telling to be the palest moonlit shadow of the storyteller's rendering. "The youth wandered into a glade, and noting the lateness of the hour, decided to sleep for the night. It was chilly, and he knew that a fire would both warm him and keep the animals of the forest at bay. He searched, but could find no dry fallen wood. He found, however, a very slender and brittle old tree. He kicked at it, breaking its trunk, and snapped the wood with his bare hands. He built a fire and fell asleep, bathed in its warmth."

"When he awoke the next morning, he found that he was incredibly stiff his limbs almost refusing to bend. He thought that it was merely the result of sleeping on the ground. Slowly and with great effort he stood and stretched to the sky. As he stretched he looked at his fingers and before his eyes they grew towards the light as long, slender branches, for the tree that he had cut down was no ordinary tree. It was the earthly home of a wood spirit. Some call them dryads." She glanced at Alistair he was leaned towards her eagerly waiting to hear the rest of the story, as she had when it was first told to her as a child. "He tried to walk, but his feet turned into roots. The more tree that he became, the more he felt the vengeful rage of the dryad."

"The other dryads of the forest mourned their slain companion. The wild sylvan could no longer remember where it had come from as an elf. The other dryads, it is said, called upon the God of Vengeance to create a mighty wind to take the seeds that clung to what had been the elven boy's hands and carry them far across the forest to seek out all of the elves and strike them down. My clan's storyteller claimed that there are places in Ferelden today where the wild sylvans still hunt elves. I've never seen one personally, but I never strayed far from camp alone after hearing this story."

"I doubt that I would have either," Alistair replied. The story had unnerved him a little. _Great now I'll have nightmares about shrubbery_.

"I secretly used to believe that the storyteller made up that tale just to keep me from wandering the forest when there was no one to watch me," Pfeiffer said in a conspiratorial tone, which instantly served to put Alistair in better humor.

"Aw, you were a trouble maker, most wardens are you know," Alistair stated smiling, he had heard the stories of other wardens' youths and most had called mischief a close friend.

"You do know why elves have pointed ears, don't you?" Pfeiffer said with a mock seriousness in her tone.

"No, but you're going to tell me right?" He was smirking now. He had quickly learned that Pfeiffer's jokes were often terrible, but that he enjoyed them anyway.

Pfeiffer leaned over and grabbed the tips of his ears in her fingers pulling lightly on them as she said, "Because they just don't listen!" She burst into laughter at the shocked look on his face.

"Hey, ow!" He said rubbing at his left ear, attempting to conceal his embarrassment at blushing in response to the feeling of her fingers upon his ears. The fingers of her right hand had the strong calluses from the repeated drawing of a bow, while the fingers of her left hand were smooth he had noticed.

"Will you two never cease with your needless chattering! I for one am trying to get some much needed sleep," Morrigan chided them.

"I'm sorry, I'll try and keep it down," Pfeiffer replied.

"I won't," Alistair replied trying, but not very hard to suppress his laughter. He enjoyed sitting watch with Pfeiffer, especially when she let her guard down and relaxed for change. As their leader, she had to be serious in her handling of most matters. At night, when it was just the two of them, she was an engaging companion. She frequently reminded him of the camaraderie that he had shared with the other wardens, before the blight, before Ostagar. He was not about to let Morrigan spoil what little enjoyment he still got out of life.

Morrigan found their frivolity to be alien. She had never had peers with which to share laughter or play. She had come to believe such enjoyment to be a sign of weakness and she could never afford to be weak. In the back of her mind was always the thought that she dare not trust them or become too attached. Yes, she needed them but not for company or validation. It was easy for her to disdain Alistair, but the elf woman could be almost admirable at times. Pfeiffer was not quick to judge Morrigan, having lived outside of human society herself. Morrigan liked the manner in which the woman took control and invited discussion, but ultimately seemed to make decisions based upon what she deemed practical and not either Morrigan's or Alistair's opinions or some fool dogma. Pfeiffer's humor and her tendency to indulge Alistair's need for attention, however, were beyond Morrigan. _If the woman would just ignore his pouting, he would surely give it up._ It horrified her to watch the two draw closer, even though she knew that it could prove advantageous to her later. _Let the elf play the fool_, _all the better to ensnare her, _Morrigan thought. She rolled over again, covering her ears and wishing that the small voice of envy within her head would cease. Friendship gave one something to lose after all.

A few hours later, Pfeiffer touched Morrigan on the shoulder to wake her for watch. Instinctively, Morrigan flinched and drew away. Her face was full of anger.

"'Tis time for our watch," said Pfeiffer in a quiet voice, sitting on the ground near the mage, but facing sideways for a better view of the whole camp. Pfeiffer was silent now.

"What no fables of elven wisdom for me?" asked Morrigan in an acid tone.

"I could if you would like." The elf replied her eyes sliding to Morrigan's face.

"No certainly not, I've heard enough children's nonsense for one night." At this, the two women fell silent and passed their watch.

It suited Pfeiffer to not have to talk. Although she was weary, she was still contemplating their next move after stopping at Lothering. Where to begin to raise an army? She was certain that she would not start with the dwarves. Dwarves and elves seldom mingled, but when they did the results were usually unpleasant. Best to try her hand someplace where she might have more success.

Currently, she had no idea where the Dalish clans might be camped. Her own clan had been pushed out of their seasonal hunting grounds by the darkspawn and the shemlen. As for the other clans, she was unsure of their routes at this time of year. It was not the season when her clan usually might meet with any of the others. Perhaps she could get word of one of the clans through traders who sometimes crossed paths with the elves….

Although Alistair had connections with Redcliffe, she felt uneasy approaching a human noble just yet. This left the circle of magi. The circle consisted of both humans and elves. One of the elven mages might have information on the whereabouts of one of the Dalish clans. At least, she thought, the mages have fewer outside concerns to prevent them from denying the wardens' treaties. Yes, the circle seemed as good a place as any to start. Pfeiffer had more then a passing curiosity about the place as well.

Finally, it was Pfeiffer's turn to rest. She walked over to the main fire and woke Alistair. As she lay her head down, she hoped that her nightmares would not return. Lately, she dreamed of darkspawn, of Tamalin being taken by them, their evil mocking laughter filling her ears. She tried to think of other things, of hunting the green forests, the scent of trees laden with dew, the faces of the young elves as they listened to the storyteller, a hot bath. Her dreams were peaceful, at least for a while.

"Breakfast," Alistair was attempting to wake her. "You have your pick of salted meat or, well… salted meat."

"Lucky for me, then, that I was just craving salted meat," Pfeiffer murmured groggily. She sat up and reached for the leather clasp with which she bound her hair. She combed her mane back and gathered it up in one hand. She quickly slid the clasp in place as always. To Pfeiffer this was an unconscious part of the daily routine, but to Alistair it was one of the many pleasant things about traveling in the company of a woman.

Feeling a bit cheered by their time at watch the night before he risked asking, "That's a nice piece of leatherwork, could I see it?" He was gesturing at her hair clasp. "I've heard a lot about elven crafts but I've rarely had the chance to see any."

Pfeiffer slid the clasp from her hair and handed it to Alistair. "This is quite intricate, the way it has been cut out. Someone spent quite a lot of time making this."

"My mentor made it for me. Leatherworking was a, a" she struggled to find the word in the common language of Ferelden.

"Hobby, perhaps?" Alistair suggested. It still amazed him how well she spoke the common tongue, having had such limited reasons to use it.

"Hobby, yes," she said looking at the clasp as Alistair placed it in her hand. She had not really looked at it in quite a long while. It was a beautiful piece. Renain, her mentor, had claimed that it was to keep her hair from blinding her while she shot her bow, but a much simpler one would have sufficed for that purpose. Pfeiffer suspected that Renain had noticed her looking at the elaborate braiding of the other elven girls. Her parents having died when she was very young meant that there had not been a woman to braid the young elf's hair, nor to teach her how to do it for herself. When she wore the clasp it meant that someone cared how she looked. It had really bolstered the young elf's self esteem. But it was best if her thoughts not linger on the subject of Renain too long, he was like an addiction that she thought she had shaken, but the memory of whom could stir a desire not easily squelched.

"Yes, I need food, now, right now, lots of salty chewy food," she nodded her headed vigorously as she said this. Then remembering what had started the conversation, she practically shoved her hair into a pony tail. She strode away from a quite perplexed looking Alistair to where she could eat and perhaps not have to answer any other questions. The last thing she needed was this man, this human, poking into the more personal parts of her life. _No, stories and jokes were fine. Past romantic disasters were definitely off limits to Alistair, even if he was handsome in a strange way._

The three companions shared a quiet breakfast and struck camp. _A new day filled with trails and adventures waits just down the road. Now if only it could include a decent meal and the chance to get a real night's rest_, Pfeiffer sighed at this thought. Little did she know how long the road would be before life's more mundane pleasures would once again become be part of her experience. She began the day's journey on tired feet. She needed something to distract her.

"Alistair, you do know don't you why dwarfs are so short?" Pfeiffer started.

"Alistair, have you ever seen an elf turned into a toad?" Morrigan asked in a sarcastically sweet tone.


End file.
